she used to smile at me and insist on changing the day to one in which smiles were the law of our months.
she sat languidly and scarcily had bad moments and if she did, she would throw them off her shoulders, got upa nd danced, and sang songs about flowers.
she’d look at me and say…girl….love will come again another day, life will preach to u and say, i’ll suck but love u anyway.
she’d forgive the wrongs of many others, and right the wrongs of all her brothers and love and live and sing and smile and tell me girl it is worth the while, for in the end all this mundane shit will explode into your face and you won’t enjoy it.
she was there always, happily and cheery, hiding the scars on her arms, and bruises on her legs, trying to answer the questions i asked….
‘why is it that you are so strong, how can you deal with so much for so long and still crack the smile in the end, when people are not really friends?’
and with a smile she’d laugh and say oh sas sweetheart, the slicing relieves me from the pain, makes me feel again to love again. i know so much by showing so little. it is not my fault people are critical. each time i bleed and bond with my whiskey, all i can think of is my beauty, the fact that i can feel and hurt, shows that i have a heart. i’m too much of a wuss to kill myself. so instead i self destruct and pain myself.
this way i control what i receive.
catharsis begins when i bleed.
so i turned another page of her diary, and realized there is so much of her in me.
i tear the page out and throw it at her grave.
“beauty” in a realm of pain…..makes us all slaves.